


Pack up the Moon and Dismantle the Sun

by TygerTyger



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Loss, Multi, Weeping Angels - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TygerTyger/pseuds/TygerTyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River hasn’t seen her Doctor in a very long time and decides to request opportunities to work towards a pardon. The only offer comes from the last organisation she would want, the Church.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I was watching Game of Thrones and Iain Glen’s dulcet tones got me thinking of Octavian and how River ended up working for the Church after everything they had done and why she could possibly need a pardon when she could just walk out and disappear. 
> 
> This takes into account one spoiler from a press release by Steven Moffat concerning the Ponds in series 7. It was in the release announcing [the new companion](http://io9.com/5895126/and-doctor-whos-newest-companion-is), so if you've read or heard that, there'll be nothing new in this.
> 
> Title is from W.H. Auden because I was sick of trying to come up with an original title.

Eight years, twenty-five weeks, four days, nine hours and thirteen minutes.  It had been that long since she last saw him, the real him, the one who loved her. That day he said goodbye as he had a thousand times before— _See you later._ Never one for specifics, her Doctor.

Since then, when she called him the only version she got was the younger one, the one who didn’t know who she was, the one who wouldn’t touch her. It didn’t help that he looked the same, smelled the same and made her ache for him in the same way.

He had tried to warn her early on that it would get like this, but she was young and stupid then, and she had never known him to be anything other than besotted with her. She told him that she could handle it; she felt she could at the time, then again back then she felt she could do anything.

He never told her that it would be gradual, that she would witness the love and recognition he had for her fade like a photograph left in the sun. Perhaps it was because that wasn’t how he had perceived it—it was the opposite for him, his hearts were only filling up.

Now when she met him he hardly knew her at all, and she never saw her lover anymore. The stretching length of his absence tore at her and broke her down until she was hollow—a shadow of herself that even shebarely recognised.

When she was met with suspicion and anger by the younger Doctor she wanted to ask him—her Doctor—what he’d been thinking, what he’d been feeling. She wanted him to put her mind at ease and tell her that it wasn’t hate that she sometimes thought she saw burning in his eyes, that it was something else. But she couldn’t because he never came. So she wrote to him in her diary, the one place she knew the real him would read it some day, and when she was done she would place an X and try to instil it with how much she missed, and forgave, and loved him.


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River receives a response.

She knew the drill: turn around, hands visible behind her back, palms facing out. The guards approached snapped the cuffs into place before escorting her to the interview room. At least they didn’t try to strong-arm her anymore; they let her walk between them. Tall and Small, two of her favourites. Veterans.  

“How are you both this fine morning, boys?”

“Horrible, she’s gone and cancelled roast-beef Friday and we’re having fish instead,” Small piped up.

“Why’s that?” River asked.

“Because of the visitor…” Tall glared at him and he shut up, too late. Tall rolled his eyes.

“What visitor?”

“You’ll see. It’s you he’s here for,” Tall said.

Her hearts skipped in spite of herself. She didn’t dare hope. The taller guard knocked on the interview room door and then opened it. All three entered and River sat in her usual chair whilst the guards adjusted her bindings and fastened her in. She rested her hands on the armrests and behaved as though she wasn’t tied down.

The warden finished writing in her notebook and closed it. She took her glasses off and placed them on the table. “Doctor Song, you requested opportunities to seek a pardon.”

“Yes.”

“We reached an agreement that if you didn’t attempt escape for six months that I would begin to make enquiries. You held up your end, so I held up mine and sent feelers out to the various parties a few months ago. There was only one reply.”

“Oh?” River hadn’t really expected a reply at all on the first attempt; she had always ensured that her reputation had preceded her, and she assumed it would take time to undo enough of her notoriety to convince someone to take a chance on her. Her hearts skipped again.

“You can refuse the offer.”

“Why would I want to refuse the offer?”

“Because it comes from the Church.”

The flicker of hope was extinguished once more and her shoulders dropped. “Oh.”

“I know you have a chequered history with them, but I gave my word to their envoy that you would meet him. Will you meet him?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not on this, we are diplomatically bound. One meeting, you can decide whether you want to progress from there. He seems pleasant enough.”

Pleasant he may have been, but River couldn’t forget what he represented. An organisation that was an ally to the order of the Silence, an organisation that was complicit in her abduction as a newborn and had visited untold suffering on everyone she had ever loved. In spite of that, this man still allowed himself to represent them. He was her enemy.

“Bring him in.”

Warden Robinet motioned to one of the guards and he left the room, returning a moment later with the visitor.

“Father Octavian, this is Doctor Song.”

River kept staring forward as the cleric rounded her seat and stood in front of her extending a hand.

“Sorry, I’m a bit tied up,” she sniped.

“Yes, I apologise,” he said withdrawing his hand. His voice was deep and sounded like prayer. _Jesus fucking Christ_.

The warden got to her feet and gathered her things. “Father Octavian has asked to be left alone with you for the interview, Doctor Song. Please behave.”

River sighed as the warden and guards left her alone with the cleric. He moved to the other side of the table and took a seat. His face was lined, but still handsome in a blunt sort of way. He was wearing a green dress-uniform, brass buttons shined smooth. The left breast of his coat bore stripes of accolades from the various missions he had been part of and she wondered if one of them was for Demon’s Run. Had he been there amongst the clerics who stole her away, even before her own father could hold her?

There was a quality to the bitterness she bore that never faded; the reminders were with her every day. The prisoner identification chip injected into the flesh of her arm, her cell, her loneliness. One of the reasons she had originally wanted a pardon was to be able to escape those reminders. Once her other reasons had disappeared off in that blue box, it was the only one she had left, and over time it had become enough. She needed to move on.

“Doctor Song, I believe we can be of mutual benefit to each other. We are in need of a consultant and for your services, delivered to our satisfaction, we can arrange for a pardon to be issued via the Intergalactic Criminal Justice Programme.”

“Still big-hitters around the intergalactic parliament I see. How much did that set you back? Did the papal mainframe have to lose a few thousand tonnes of her gold reserves?”

The cleric paused and looked directly into her eyes, probably a parlour trick learned to silence enemies. “If I recall correctly, it was you who requested an opportunity to work towards a pardon.”

“That was before I knew who was going to answer.”

He sat forward in his chair and leaned across the table to speak. “I have read your trial notes and am aware of your history with the church. The church you knew no longer exists; it was a dark time for all of us. So many lives were lost on both sides.”

“Were you there Father? When they held my mother, and forced her to give birth to me with no one who loved her anywhere near? When they tore me from her arms and she cried for me as I cried for her? Did you stand by the sides of those monsters on Demon’s Run?”

The cleric flinched; she had found a weak point.

“No, I was only a boy.” He placed his hands flat on the table; his wedding ring was well worn and polished like his buttons. “Demon’s run is the darkest blot on the Church’s history.”

“Until the next one.”

“Don’t you believe in anything, Doctor Song?”

“I used to, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Then you can still at least understand faith and forgiveness?”

She could, but the comparison made her uncomfortable. She had lived that day twice already and had forgiven the Doctor his sins; she couldn’t resent Octavian’s forgiveness of his church, even if it was misguided. “Why does the Church want me?”

“We have a shared history with the order of the Silence. You sinned as we did in their name.”

River shook her head bitterly. She had not sinned against the Doctor as the cleric believed. She had once, long ago, when she was someone else, but she repaid her debt tenfold at the time. Not that he had asked for it to be repaid. He loved her even as his life slipped away by her hand. She would not be compared to them, but she couldn’t argue. Even now when all that remained was the memory of him, held close in the back of her mind.

“You have many areas of expertise that could prove beneficial to our on-going investigations.”

“Investigations?”

“Yes, I lead a covert investigative branch. We seek out and neutralise potential threats to peaceful existence. I’m afraid there was quite the vacuum left after—”

“After I killed the Doctor,” River concluded.

“Having been his companion,” River flinched at the term, “you have rare expertise and insight into some of the forces we are dealing with in these missions.”

“How many?”

He looked quizzically at her.

“How many missions?” she clarified.

“Four to six, dependent on the outcomes.”

“And what if, after the first mission, we mutually agree to end our arrangement?”

“Your sentence can be reduced, or you could be moved to a more open facility.”

River pondered the options. Her sentence was so long any reduction would make no impact, and there was no point in moving to a more open facility if the strictest prison in the known universe couldn’t hold her. She would have to ensure that the missions went well if she was going to accept, it was all or nothing. “If I agree to this, you will provide me with my own quarters whilst on mission, and a certain degree of autonomy to allow me to work to the best of my abilities.”

“Any autonomy will be on a case-by-case basis, but we can provide personal quarters. Do you accept?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Doctor Song. I will forward information in the coming days and will send for you once I have arranged the details with Warden Robinet.”

He stood up and exited the room, leaving River alone for a moment in which she allowed her face to fall in line with the aching she felt. She would have wished for the Doctor to come and take her away and she’d never come back, promises be damned. But wishing never got her anywhere.


	3. Two - The Abbey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River is released into the Church's custody.

It was taking longer than River had expected to become accustomed to being outside of her cell without being bound or handcuffed. It had been almost nine months since she had last been out on her own, the same length of time since she had seen any version of the Doctor.

He had been younger than she had ever met him and was travelling with her parents before they had even married. It was difficult enough when the Doctor had little idea of who she was, but with them, it hurt in an entirely different way.  All of the old wounds were reopened, and she was reminded again of exactly how much she had lost. Afterwards, when she returned to Stormcage, she requested she be assigned a solicitor with a view to requesting a pardon. And so she found herself in the custody of the Church.

Almost as soon as she was transferred, her handcuffs were removed—on Father Octavian’s orders, she was told. She was escorted to her quarters and told that the Bishop wished to meet her in private an hour later.

After all the years she had spent in Stormcage, she didn’t think that it bothered her anymore to know that they were always watching; she would behave as though no one could see her. But once she closed the door of her private quarters behind her, some unknown tension that she had been holding escaped her body, and she knew she had been pretending before.

She showered quickly and rifled through her small bag for some suitable clothing. She hadn’t worn anything of her own in a long time. She used to make a point of wearing her own clothes over the standard-issue garments provided by Stormcage, but recently she hadn’t seen the point if she was just going to be sitting in her cell.

Eventually she settled on a pair of jeans, a large jumper and a pair of boots, nothing fancy, but it felt good to know that they were hers and she had chosen them. She unpacked the rest of her things into the wooden wardrobe before a junior cleric came to escort her to meet Octavian.

The cleric opened the heavy wooden door which led to the outside, and River paused. She hadn’t been outdoors since she had last spoken with the Doctor, standing outside of what was essentially her childhood home, skirting dangerously close to crossing her own precious timeline. She used to be brave like that, she had almost forgotten. She stepped outside.

Octavian was waiting for her in at the bottom of the steps, wearing a less formal uniform than she had last seen him in. “I thought we could have a stroll about the grounds.”

 

They walked in silence for a time. The compound was a sprawling ancient monastery set into the earth and crudely landscaped with artificial green grass, false trees and plastic shrubs. The intention was to create an earth-like effect, but there was no cheap way of masking a pink sky or the odd light of the adjacent star. The designer’s efforts made it seem even more jarring than if it had been simply left for the old earth building to make its own contrast with its alien surroundings.

Octavian spoke eventually. “You received the intelligence reports?”

“Um, yes, interesting reading. They have no idea what they’re sitting on, do they?”

“No, from what we can gather they couldn’t extrapolate what the species was from the genetic sequence through their usual modelling process, which is why they’re planning to create an animate version now.”

“From my experience, the DNA museum didn’t just happen upon the genetic material. There are likely to be Daleks nearby keeping a close eye on that facility.”

“Which is why our source didn’t broadcast it when he recognised some of the key indicators of the Daleks’ modified genome. What would be your recommended course of action?”

“Explosives?”

“We need to avoid needless loss of life Doctor Song,” he reminded her, sounding a lot like someone else.

“Okay, well they’re in cryo-storage at the moment.” She paused and glanced at him; she was half anticipating that he would finish her thought, but he just looked on expectantly. “I wonder if we could tweak the thermostats, so that they’re still reading correctly and not setting off any nasty alarms, but in fact are storing the samples a few degrees higher, letting them rot? The first anyone would know about it would be the stench.”

“Now you’re thinking like a covert agent. Very good. I will see about obtaining the building schematics and undercover identities.”

They fell into a slightly more comfortable silence and continued to wander through the grounds. The wind rushed between the gaps of the buildings, blowing River’s hair into random patterns. Although she could move freely, she found her arms defaulting to cross in front of her body.

“Are your quarters satisfactory?” Octavian asked.

“Yes, it’s nice to have some privacy for a change.”

“Very important thing, privacy—essential in my estimation. I have had in depth discussions with your Warden Robinet on that very subject. As of yet I have been unsuccessful in convincing her to alter her constant surveillance policy. But I will persist.”

“Ha. I would tell you that you’re wasting your time, but I suspect you know that already.” He smiled and nodded but said nothing. “This place?” River asked. “The buildings, how did they get here?”

“Ah the Abbey! It was salvaged from the earth at some point in the twenty-eighth century and was in storage for millennia. The church purchased it and restored it stone-by-stone here over a thousand years ago. It was allocated to my division ten years ago.”

“It’s British, if I’m not mistaken?”

“That’s right.”

“My parents were British.” 

“What became of them?”

River paused. She never spoke of her family to anyone outside of her trusted circle, but somehow, it had just slipped out. “I lost them.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” It was said plainly; he was clearly accustomed to delivering sympathies, and he knew enough about grief not to question further.

“What about you, where are your family from?”

“I grew up in the Gamma Forests. Have you heard of it?” He stole a glance at River as he said it. He knew her answer.

The turn in conversation made her fingers itch to rest by her absent blaster; she dug her nails into her palm instead. “Yes, I have. I’ve never been there though.”

“It’s beautiful; when you earn your pardon you should visit.”

 _When?_ River thought. “How does someone from the Gamma Forest end up in the Church? It’s heaven-neutral, is it not?”

“I followed my older sister into the service. She died in battle when I was a boy.”

River’s breath stopped momentarily—she had not expected this. Her prayer leaf was stitched by a young solider from the Gamma Forests who died in battle on Demon’s Run. River knew the answer, but she felt compelled to ask, “What was her name?”

“Lorna.”

“Yes.”

“So you know?” The cleric grinned, pleased.

“The woman who gave me my name was Lorna Bucket—your sister.”

“That’s right. As a young girl she met the Doctor. I wasn’t even born at the time, but my mother said that she had been altered by the encounter. Afterwards, all Lorna wanted was to meet the Doctor again. She would go to the clearing and stare at the stars in the hope of seeing him, but he never came.”

“He had a habit of doing that to people.”

“The desire stayed with her even when she was grown, and eventually she enlisted with the Church. She thought it the surest way of finding him. It seems she was right, even if it did cost her her life.”

“The Doctor didn’t—”

“I know, Doctor Song. It is the risk we all run when we fight for what we have faith in. As a boy, I grew up with her stories of the Doctor and I was altered too. I only wish that I could have met him before…”

“Before I killed him.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to—”

“No it’s all right, don’t be sorry. I think he would have liked you.”

“Was he a good man, Doctor Song? He was known as a mighty warrior in the Gamma Forests. What was the truth?”

“He was neither; he was both. He was a walking contradiction. He was exceptional and ordinary all at once. He was just a man,” she replied. _And I loved him_.

Octavian looked at her as though he wanted to ask her something more, but he turned back to the path and they returned to the barracks. “We’ll meet again at eighteen-hundred hours in the mess. There will be a prayer before the meal, I would appreciate it if you could observe it in silence.”

River laughed. “I’m not entirely ill-bred, you know?”

“I didn’t mean to cause offence.”

She smiled. “You didn’t.”

River returned to her quarters, shut the heavy wooden door behind her and closed the curtains. She took out her diary, lay back on her bed and told her Doctor about Octavian.

Then she slept the sleep of the unobserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were slightly surprised by the turn this took, don't worry, so was I.


	4. Three - What's in a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River and Octavian stalk an escaped creature aboard a planetary class starship.

The mission in the DNA museum went off without a hitch, perfectly executed, boring. If there were Daleks monitoring the facility, they didn’t make themselves known. River returned to Stormcage in the same physical state as she had left, but she was more keenly aware of her confinement than ever before. The urge to escape burned and bubbled in her chest, but she fought it, remembering why an official pardon, and to be truly, permanently free was important to her. It took weeks before she felt at in any way at ease again, and when Octavian’s missive requesting her expertise for a second time finally arrived, she was flooded with relief. He was her way out now.

 

*   *   *

 

Gun held next to her ear, River nodded across the hallway to Octavian; he acknowledged and they listened. He had convinced her to wear the urban camouflage, eventually, but she refused to wear the helmet; it wasn’t worth the hair hassle later. It was only a uniform requirement anyway; it wasn’t as though Nyrm had the required opposable thumbs to use firearms, or firm enough bodies to cause anything to collapse. The danger with them was being digested inside your own skin, and no helmet was going to protect against that.

The other clerics were busy laying waste to the nest of eggs lining the inner hull of the starship whilst she and Octavian tracked the adult through the lower decks. There was an oily crinkling sound from the corridor, and River’s eyes shot to Octavian who indicated the countdown with his fingers.

Three, two, one.

They stepped into the hallway. There was nothing to be seen but a quickly retreating shadow and a trail of red slime leading away into the next passageway. They skulked closer, and Octavian used his rifle mirror to see around the corner.

“It moves fast,” he said, finding the corridor empty. He reached into his breast pocket to retrieve the ship schematics.

River stopped him with a hand on his arm. “The only thing down there is the central ventilation hub. We can’t go firing at it while it’s in there or we’ll suffocate the entire population. There’s only one exit though, so maybe we could try flushing it out?”

“If it moves that quickly at an amble, I’m afraid to make it sprint. The element of surprise is our advantage; we’ll have to wait it out.”

They fashioned a makeshift hide from a large wooden crate and lay in wait for the Nyrm to emerge from the ventilation hub. River peered through the gap on her side, keeping her blaster aimed at the doorway and her sights firmly fixed. Octavian settled himself in line with his rifle and lay with his finger resting off the trigger as he waited and watched. The blue of one eye was lit by the corridor light as he stared unblinking.

There was no further movement or sound for what felt like an age, and River was getting bored. She sighed.

“Patience is a virtue, Doctor Song.” Octavian whispered.

She readjusted herself to lie in a more comfortable position. “I am patient, when I need to be, but this is a bit too much like bird watching. Or worse, fishing.”

“My father was quite the keen fisherman; he always said that one needed a sense of humour to enjoy the sport.” He continued to observe the door, but he smiled slightly, making lines around his eye deepen.

“Well he certainly had a sense of humour to name his son Octavian Bucket.”

“Octavian is not my given name, something we have in common judging by your case file. Upon ordination, a cleric must assume a sacred name.”

“And you chose Octavian?”

“I was appointed it, but I wouldn’t have chosen any differently. It had been my name before I ever knew it, before I even heard the call of my vocation.”

“Is your given name lost, or are you allowed to use it?”

“I can use it if I wish. I couldn’t prevent my mother if it were prohibited, so it’s fortunate that it isn’t.”

River chuckled. “I can sympathise. My own mother was insistent on using the name she gave me, mostly when she was annoyed. It used to drive me mad; now I’d give anything to hear her say it again.”

Octavian brought his eye in line with his rifle sights, and River fell silent, hearing a crackling squelch from the doorway. She watched as one red tentacle emerged from the room, followed by the writhing body of the Nyrm.

“Harry,” Octavian said, as though he were naming the beast, and he fired, hitting it directly in the black optical mass on its flank, killing it stone dead. “And you may call me it, if you wish, as long as it’s not around my men.”

His cool manner startled River, as did the clean complication-free kill. It left her feeling surplus to requirements. In another life she would have been left to clean up the mess left by well-meaning meddling, or the unbreakable belief that maybe everyone and everything could be saved.

“Don’t worry; I won’t call you by the name your mother gave you. I understand that it belongs to another life,” Octavian said as he watched for any further signs of danger.

“Thank you. You can call me River, if you like?” She said it by means of consolation, but wasn’t sure she meant it, because that name belonged to someone else too.

“I’ll continue to call you Doctor Song; I think you prefer that,” he said, breaking his rifle and accounting for the unspent rounds, before slipping out of the crate and getting to his feet to survey the slain Nyrm. River followed him and holstered her redundant blaster as Octavian spoke into his communicator. “The target has been neutralised, sector eighteen-lambda-three.”

 


	5. Four - House of Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a six week long mission, River and Octavian are in confessional humour.

Had River known earning a pardon would be so simple, she would have done it years earlier. Although, she suspected, had it been anyone other than Octavian it would have been different. She had encountered people before who wanted to feel some sort of connection to the Doctor through her. Normally they treated her as though she were an animal parading for their amusement— _The Woman who Killed the Doctor_. Octavian was different. Yes, he was fascinated by the Doctor, and any morsel of information River provided was met with intense interest, but he never treated her like a sideshow.  Perhaps it was her connection to his sister, or maybe he saw something in her case file that others didn’t; River didn’t know, but she was grateful for it.

 

The third mission was a particular coup; they negotiated peace between two warring factions, saving both species from extinction. No death, no shooting, just six weeks of daily twelve-hour negotiations. Horrifically boring, and River had repeatedly entertained thoughts of banging their heads together and leaving them to it. Octavian on the other hand had boundless patience. It was quite something to watch him at work, posing questions and presenting arguments to surreptitiously plant the opposing point of view into their heads, making them identify with one another without even realising it. And of course all of the negotiations were broadcast planet-wide so that not only those in the room were affected. By the time they were ready to leave, the first planetary election in four decades was called. It was a miracle by anyone’s definition.

Octavian allowed his men rest and relaxation hours on their return journey, but he himself remained in his study putting together the case file.

River knocked on his door. “We’re setting up a game of cards down in the galley; you should join us.”

“No, I need to get this finished now before I forget anything.”

“All work and no play…” He looked at her then with a mixture of amusement and sadness. “What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing. You go and enjoy yourself. I might venture down to play a hand or two once I have this put to bed.”

“I’ll hold you to that. I’ll send Bob up to fetch you if you don’t make an appearance; you know how scary Bob can be.”

He laughed. “Yes, quite terrifying, I’m sure.”

 

True to his word, Octavian arrived into the galley a few hours later. The clerics were gathered around the table watching one of their number take on the infamous Doctor Song in a game of poker. River had a huge stash of sugar packets piled up next to her, and her opponent had just gone all in. “You can change your mind and back out if you like? No one would think less of you for it,” she said.

The other soldiers jeered. “No. I said call, and I bloody well mean it.”

She shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t give you a fair chance.” She turned over her hand. “Royal Flush.”

“Again?!”

“What can I say? I’m lucky at cards.” He threw down his losing hand, and River grinned as she gathered up the last of the sugar packets. “That was very quick, I was hoping for a bit of a challenge.”

“Sir, you should play her; I’d bet you could beat her.”

“I wouldn’t put money on it.” Octavian said, standing next to the table watching the victor with her spoils.

“What about sugar?” River asked with her arms around her sugar stash.

“I wouldn’t put sugar on it either.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“Maybe we should all sit down for a prayer of thankfulness before bed?” Octavian addressed his men. “Or perhaps there is more fun to be had on the exercise deck with the ping pong table?” The soldiers looked at one another. “Off with you then,” Octavian smiled, playing the part of a kindly headmaster. The soldiers filed out and River could hear them start to chatter as they made their way to the exercise deck. “I’ve never known a quicker method of emptying a room than the draw of table tennis.”

“Or the threat of prayer…” River teased. She picked up the sugar box and carefully slid all of the packets back into it. Octavian took the filled box from her and put it back into the cupboard. He returned with two glasses and a bottle of Scotch and placed them on the table.

“Dark horse.” River smirked. He poured a little in each glass and replaced the stopper. “Thank you,” River said, lifting the glass to her nose to smell it, “It’s been a while since I had Scotch, or anything really. Stormcage never did get that liquor licence I requested.”

Octavian smiled as he sat across from her. “You’re nothing like your reputation would have people believe, Doctor Song.”

“I’m not. But you knew that before you met me, didn’t you?”

He took the barest sip of the Scotch and reclined in the chair. “I didn’t know it exactly; I needed to meet you to be sure.”

“And what did you expect to find?”

“Someone who had no business being in a maximum security prison. I had followed your trial with interest and there was something that didn’t ring true. Something in your demeanour—the media had you touted as an ice-cold killer. But that’s not what I saw.”

“What did you see?” River asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

“I saw love and loyalty. You weren’t there because you were being coerced; you were there because you chose to be.”

River took a sip of her Scotch and drank deep. “You’re astute.”

“I trained as a psychoanalyst for my role as a negotiator.”

“There’s an element that comes naturally too, I’d wager.”

He said nothing, but leaned forward to pick up the deck of cards from and took two from the top. He arranged them to lie against each other in a triangle and stood them on the table, then took two more and repeated the process.

“I used to be brilliant at building card houses when I was little,” River said, taking two herself and arranging them alongside his.

“Doctor Song, may I ask you a personal question?”

“You may ask, but I might not answer.”

“Why did you kill the Doctor?”

River’s face fell; she didn’t try to hide it, but she turned it into a sad smile, focusing on balancing the cards in her hands. “I killed him because I loved him.”

“Was he your lover?”

She nodded. “He was my husband.”

She could tell by how Octavian’s hands stopped that he had not expected that answer. Only four people in the universe had ever been privy to that information: The Doctor, River, Amy and Rory. And now a fifth in Octavian.

“You made yourself a widow?”

“Yes.” Her voice broke and she looked away and up. Even though he wasn’t dead, she was a widow; she had been grieving his loss for years.

Octavian touched her arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”

“You weren’t to know.”

“I had a wife once, Elizabeth. She died giving birth to our child when we were stationed on a mission to an underdeveloped society. We didn’t have the medical supplies to save either of them.”

River looked at the pain etched on his face. “I’m sorry; how awful.”

“Yes, well it’s in the past now and nothing can be done about it. We can only move forward.”

River smiled at the simplicity of chronological living. Even with the complications of time travel she found herself in much the same situation—powerless to change her fate.

“Harry?” Octavian closed his eyes at the sound of his name and opened them again to look at River. “It’s late, maybe we could leave the house of cards for another day?”

“Of course,” he said and began to carefully dismantle what they had built. River rose from her seat and moved to the door. “Goodnight, Doctor Song,” he said as he slid the deck back into its box.

River paused in the doorway. “Aren’t you going to join me?” Without a word, he put the cards down and followed her out the door, leaving the two half-drunk glasses of Scotch on the table.

 

It felt right: two people connected by their loss finding comfort in each other.  She couldn’t claim that her loss was equal to his; his family had died, hers were sill living somewhere, somewhen. But she envied the finality of his situation in a way, because that kernel of hope in the corner of her chest felt more like a tumour sometimes.

She was glad that Octavian was different to the Doctor; he touched her with less confidence and his hands were rougher. When he kissed her he didn’t taste the same, nor did he feel the same as he moved inside her. But then her name fell from his lips.

She knew why he had used it; he was trying to prevent himself from saying someone else’s. But she wished he had just allowed himself to call her by his wife’s name, because suddenly everything about him reminded her of her husband.

She tried to push the thought away; she tried to look at him and see Octavian again, but her eyes betrayed her and they closed. Her hands smoothed over the strong lines of his back and she kissed him deeply. All it took was one tiny slip in her head, and a swell of misplaced love rose in her chest. Then her body, her traitorous body, captured the pleasurable sensation between them and built upon it until her back arched and she pulled him close as she came.

She felt a silent sob at her chest and opened her eyes to find Octavian weeping into her shoulder. She stoked the back of his neck in a gesture of comfort. “It’s okay.”

Octavian got up and sat with his back to her on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you remind me of her, of Elizabeth.”

River pulled the sheets up to cover herself and spoke softly. “Ah. I had an inkling.”

“I only mentioned her for the first time this evening.”

“She’s been there all along; when you came to recruit me at Stormcage you were wearing your wedding band.”

Octavian chuckled and looked back around to her. “Is there nothing that escapes your attention, Doctor Song?”

“Very little,” she replied with a playful smirk. “Back to being colleagues? What do you think?”

“I think friends would be better.”

“You’re probably right, colleagues being naked in each other’s company is most likely against military policy.”

Octavian dressed quickly as River watched him from the bed. “I’ll see you in the mess hall for breakfast?”

“You will,” she replied and smiled as he left the room.

River watched after him for a moment, then turned onto her side, taking the spare pillow into her arms. She clung onto it as she pushed all of the feelings that had strayed out back into their slots.


	6. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a change of atmosphere in Stormcage.

“Her nibs wants to see you,” said the guard unlocking River’s cell.

River stood up from her bunk and stood with her hands behind her back.

The guard didn’t enter. “No need for that anymore, she says.”

River turned around. “Oh?”

“She says you’ve been swanning around with those cleric blokes—sorry, and ladies—and not escaping so you’re hardly going to make a run for it now.”

“I could, you know, just to keep you lot on your toes.”

“Sometimes I wish you would. It’s so bloody boring around here since you stopped; the shift really drags nowadays.”

“Sorry,” she said with a smirk and a shrug. “Come on, best not keep her waiting, eh?”

“After you,” he said, motioning for her to exit the cell.

They reached the turn for the interview rooms.

“No, this way, she wants you in her office.”

“In her office, you say? That’s new.” She winked at the guard, and he grinned in response, his cheeks flushing only very slightly.

“And no handcuffs either; that must be a first for you.”

She chuckled. “Oh, you have no idea!”

“In you go then,” he said with a smirk, and then left her standing outside of the warden’s office.

She knocked.

“Come in,” the warden called through the door. River entered. The office was panelled with dark hardwood; a natural-sunlight-globe hung in one corner, filling the room with an airy brightness. In the far corner, a dark-leafed tropical tree grew from a heavy round planter. The warden sat behind her large mahogany desk.

“Big fan of wood, are you?” River asked, winging an eyebrow.

The warden grinned. “Oh I like all sorts of things, but yes, wood is one of them. Won’t you sit down?”

River slipped into the large comfortable leather chair across from the warden. “Well this is fancy. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

The warden leaned back in her chair. “I’m hearing good things from Father Octavian; he says you’ve been most helpful.”

River smiled. How he could think her helpful was a mystery; she really had very little to do and mostly just tagged along on the missions. She wasn’t a hindrance, which she supposed was something, considering her former record.

“So how have you been getting along with the clerics? You seem more yourself lately.” The warden poured a glass of water from crystal jug and pushed it across the desk to River.

“Myself?”

The warden poured herself a glass and took a sip. “When I first took over at Stormcage, you were the thorn in my side. You drove out my predecessor with your constant antics, and honestly, I thought I was going to suffer the same fate.”

“How is Richard by the way?”

“Off the medication, finally. I won’t tell him that you were asking after him—you understand. Anyway, I thought it would be a good idea to formulate a River Song strategy…”

“…And?”

“There’s nothing harder to deal with than someone who makes your job impossible, but manages to do it in the most polite way imaginable.”

“I was a terrible bother to you all, wasn’t I?”

The warden shook her head, unable to contain a smirk. “Yes! But to whatever changed your mind and made you want to be pardoned, I’m eternally grateful. It saved my job, and possibly my sanity.”

“Poor Richard.”

“Poor Richard,” the warden agreed. “But you changed, gradually over the months. You were broken somehow. It wasn’t anything I did. Can I ask what it was?”

River shook her head sadly.

“That’s quite all right. I wasn’t really expecting an answer,” the warden said. “So, how have the missions with the Church been? Any problems?”

“It’s been a bit boring actually—everything going smoothly and getting sorted out in jig time. Fairly dull.”

“A dreadfully dreary lot these days, the Church. Better than what they used to be though.” She sat straighter in her chair. “Octavian has filed his mission notes with the Intergalactic Supreme Court, and the judge assigned to your case is most pleased. It looks as though you could be out within the next two years, if you continue as you are.” 

“Two years?”

“These things take time, but two years isn’t as long as forever. Anyway, it looks as though the next thing Octavian had lined up for you is going to fall by the wayside. He says he can’t get the troop support he needs. It’s coming into an election year and the Vatican is very wary about being seen to be combatant prior to the polls opening.”

“What’s the mission?”

“Here, take a look for yourself, I’ve decrypted it.” She slid a file across to River. The words _Top Secret_ were emblazoned on the cover. River opened it and tapped the screen. She looked seriously at the file, eyes racing across the sentences and schematics as she flicked though as quickly as possible to ensure that she was seeing what she thought she was seeing.

Without looking up she said, “Tell Octavian that I still have friends on the outside; tell him I can provide the equivalent of an army. We can’t let this go.” She glanced up and the warden was nodding.

“I will. And I agree with you. Whatever it takes, we can’t let this get out.”

“You’ve heard of the weeping angels?”

“They attacked a colony on the eighth moon of Huloem in my home system. The government had to destroy the entire moon to prevent their spread.”

“There’s only one here, though?”

“One too many,” the warden replied. “Do you need any help getting in touch with your contacts?”

“Oh no, I think I can manage that much myself.”

“Oh Doctor Song, you and your mysterious ways.” The warden plonked a great old book onto the table in front of her. “Here, you might need this.”

“What’s that?” River asked, picking it up.

“The definitive text on the angels. I had one of _my_ contacts get it.”

“You’re just full of surprises today.”

“You’d best be off back to your cell and study. I’ll contact you once I’ve convinced Father Octavian.”

“Thank you, warden.” River said, getting up to leave.

“Elinor. Please.”

River left with the book and returned to her cell without an escort. Her emotions were mixed. On one hand was the knowledge that she was on track to being free, and on the other she would have to face one of the creatures that had taken her parents from her. But tipping the scale, as he always seemed to, was the Doctor. She had no choice but to call him, and even if it was going to be a version who didn’t know her at all, it had been so long that she scarcely cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll be at least a week before the next chapter is posted as I am going to be away for the weekend and I always struggle writing around canon episodes. But, yay, Doctor!


	7. Six - The Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River struggles to cope with a peeved Octavian, a suspicious Doctor, a very young Amy, and a Weeping Angel. She should know better than to think it can't get much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took about a week longer than I had planned. I got a bit blocked when I came back from holiday, I think my head stayed in sunny London and refused to come home to the rain. :) It's good and long, I hope that makes up for the wait, for those who've been waiting.
> 
> Thanks to clare009 for the canon sanity-check on this. You're the bestest. I added a bit that you haven't seen by the way...

When River was at University, she took part in a dig at the site of an ancient Drusipian burial cavern. The Trans-Galactic Trust had made a deal with the planetary government to secure the contents of the cavern, which included the death mask of the very last of the Drusipian High Kings. It would be the jewel in the crown of the Ancient Drusipian exhibition the Trust had been compiling for decades.

When they were nearly halfway through another team of archaeologists unexpectedly came to take over the dig. Professor Bentley, who was leading River’s team, went to argue his case with the Drusipian Minister for Culture, and River decided to tag along. She waited outside while Bentley was with the Minister in his office. He emerged barely fifteen minutes later, defeated.

The office door was left ajar, so River glanced inside and saw the Minister shaking the hand of a tall attractive man in a visibly expensive, impeccably tailored suit. “Who’s that?” River asked Bentley.

“Alistair Eames. He just bought most of the planet.”

“And why did he do that?”

“He wanted the death mask; the government wouldn’t renege on their agreement with the Trust, so he threw money at the problem until he got his way.” Bentley shrugged.

River looked into the room again; Alistair looked directly back at her and smirked. She vowed then and there that Alistair Eames would not be keeping that mask, even if it took her years to take it from him.

 

It’s astounding how easy it is to burgle something when you have the use of a vortex manipulator. She was in and out in two point five seconds, setting off every conceivable alarm, and fitting in a cheeky wink to the security camera in the process. She jumped back fifty years and put the mask into a safety deposit pod—where better to hide something you stole than before you stole it?

Alistair never did file a report on the robbery. He didn’t want to advertise the fact that someone could compromise his disgustingly expensive security system. After all, it did bear his name— _Eames Security Solutions_ —and breaches were frightfully bad for business.

 

*   *   *

 

River wasn’t surprised when she discovered that it was Alistair who had purchased the Angel; his collection certainly settled on the side of the macabre. And as it transpired, he knew exactly what he had. In fact he boasted shamelessly about what was, “locked up safely in the belly of the ship,” so River knew what she expected to see when she activated the video screen. However, when faced with the sight of the Angel, even after so many years, she found herself frozen with fear.

She knew what the Doctor would say if he were here; he’d tell her that they needed to sort this mess out, and there would be time to feel things about it later. She shook herself out, gathered the few seconds of video evidence she needed for Octavian’s case file and set off in the direction of the home box to send her message to the Doctor.

 

The one thing she could always rely on, no matter which version of him she reached, was that he would always be there to catch her. He had promised her. He always _said_ he would do a great many things, which he may or may not follow through on. But when he _promised_ her something, there was never a doubt that he would keep it. And so, with what some would describe as blind faith, she leapt from the Starliner out into the inky blackness of space.

When she saw him standing at the TARDIS door, she knew immediately that it was yet another much too young version. There was his baby-faced bravado, and her mother standing agog behind him without a clue who she was seeing sailing towards her. But still, he was here, as he had promised, extending a hand for her to take.

Having Amy there, considering what they were about to face, made River nervous. But she told herself that there was only one Angel, that it was more than manageable. Anyway, she had missed her mother so much that a little life-or-death peril was a small price to pay. And the Doctor was the Doctor. Even if he was wary, he was still fascinated by and drawn to her. He may have been scowling as he watched her, but he was watching.

After far too long, the Doctor’s manners returned to him, and he introduced her to Amy as ‘Professor River Song.’ He had no idea of the level of spoiler he had provided. River’s hearts leapt. There was one thing of which she was sure: Professorships were not handed out to life-sentenced prisoners in solitary confinement. Her bid for a pardon would be successful. She felt an added spring in her barefoot step as she summoned Octavian and his men to the planet’s surface.

She could see the disapproval and disappointment in Octavian’s face as he beheld the “army” River had invoked, but it soon turned to glee when she introduced the Doctor.

 

Once the drop ship arrived, River went to change. However much she hated her fatigues, the Maze of the Dead was no place for an evening gown. She was tying her boots when there was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

Octavian entered, looking peeved.

“I know, I know,” River said. “You don’t think one man can constitute an army, but trust me on this, I’ve seen him up against a legion of these things, he’ll make short work of just one.” She tucked the ends of her laces in and stood up. “By the way, you mustn’t tell him that, it hasn’t happened for him yet, it’s in his future.”

Octavian stood stock-still. “You told me that he was dead.”

“Keep your voice down,” River said as she scooted behind him to close the door. “You know he’s a time traveller. This is him before he died. I thought you’d be pleased; you said you always wanted to meet him.”

“I am pleased to meet him, but you, Doctor Song, you had me believe that he was lost to you, that we were the same in that regard.”

River clenched her jaw. “He is lost to me. That person out there is not my husband. He’s not the one who cared for me when I was younger; he’s not the one who loved me most of my life, who held my hand when—” She stopped herself before she let her bitterness overtake her. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to love someone and have them look at you with no idea who you are?”

“I would rather that than never to see that person again. You don’t recognise the blessing that’s right in front of you. Do you know what I would give to be able to see my Elizabeth one more time? To see her smile or talk to her for a moment?”

“The grass is always greener, father.”

“And if he knew of what occurred between us on our last mission? What would the Doctor outside think of that?”

River glared at him. “He wouldn’t care.”

Octavian held her gaze for a moment and then dropped his eyes. He moved to the door but paused before leaving.  “I hope you know him as well as you purport to; because I only have twenty men, and he’s our army.”

River stood watching after him as he left with a knot in her stomach, not at Octavian’s words but her own. The simple fact was that the Doctor outside likely didn’t know that there was any reason why he should care about her connection with Octavian. The last of the ties that bound them were coming undone, and it was slowly killing her.

 

But there was one thing that River was certain this Doctor would care about, and Octavian, who had never so much as laid a finger on her without invitation, pulled her roughly by the arm and told her that he knew it too. “He doesn't know yet, does he? Who and what you are?”

“It’s too early in his time stream.”

“Well, make sure he doesn't work it out, or he's not going to help us.”

River could hear the fear and frustration in his tone as his fingers dug a little deeper into her arm. “I won't let you down. Believe you me, I have no intention of going back to prison.”

He softened his grip before releasing her, as though he had somehow forgotten why she was with them in the first place. As though she had just reminded him of the fact that she was a mercenary—not someone who was there purely for the greater good and the desire to help. River couldn’t bring herself worry about that now, not while the Doctor and her mother were here. It could be one of the last times she had with them. When Octavian let her go, she hurried to catch up.

 

All was well, more than well. Even though Amy had never met River before—or, more accurately, thought she had never met River before—they fell into their usual groove. It was as though they had never been apart. And though the Doctor was on edge, he made room in his head to wonder about River; she could see his sidelong glances, the way he had to fight to keep the smile from his lips. He talked to her as he always did; he didn’t condescend by spelling things out like he needed to for the others. He knew her that well at least, and it was a comfort.

She had a niggling suspicion that there was something she was missing, and she mentioned it to the Doctor. When he echoed it, she knew immediately that they were in trouble. An army of Angels, how had she missed it? Her hearts almost pounded out of her chest.

She tried not to panic as the realisation of the possible consequences of her inattention flooded over her. They were all in mortal danger and it was her fault, something Octavian was keen to remind her of when they were left alone under the Byzantium waiting for the Doctor and Amy to catch up.  “I knew this was a mistake; I didn’t have the troop availability. I don’t know why I let myself be convinced otherwise.”

River couldn’t answer. She knew it was because he trusted her, trusted her judgement, but now she had proven herself to be unworthy of that privilege. But the Doctor would get them out; she had complete faith in him. She had no other choice, nor had Octavian.

River needed to bypass the power to get them into the secondary flight deck of the Byzantium; she knew how, but she couldn’t seem to get her hands to stop shaking. The Doctor must have lost patience because he fumbled for the cable she was holding to sonic it, in the process grabbing her hand.  She knew it was an accident, the Doctor this early was always very wary of touching her, but her body didn’t seem to care. A calm washed over her and the shaking stopped—the touch of his hand sparking the memories of countless others he hadn’t felt yet. His future, her past: inextricably linked. He had it all to come, and in a sad beautiful way that meant that it would never truly end for them, even if it was ending for her.

Octavian stepped into her personal space, jolting her from her thoughts. “You cost me any more men, and I might just tell him. Understood?”

She understood all right. He was telling her that he could destroy any trust the Doctor had in her by letting him know she was in prison for murder, the Doctor’s murder. She wanted to slap him, throw his threat back at him with one of her own for good measure. But the cost of losing her cool right now was too high, so she bit it back and told him she understood.

To make matters worse, Amy was in trouble. It didn’t matter how many times River looked at her computer the results were the same: Amy was counting down to her own death, and the Doctor had wandered off.

Worse still was the fact that Octavian wouldn’t shut up about needing to continue and leave the Doctor behind. Even now, after all he’d seen, he still didn’t understand that the Doctor was the only way any of them were going to get out of there. Almost to prove her point, he appeared and saved Amy when she was seconds from death.

It seemed Octavian’s faith in River had faded, and there was no way he was going to let her out of his sight. It was an irritation but it paid unexpected dividends when the Doctor stalked up to her with an air of unmistakable jealousy. “How can you be engaged in a manner of speaking?”

They were supposed to be trying to figure out how to save Amy and neutralize the Angels, but it appeared that the Doctor could no more keep his mind on the task at hand than River could. She tried to keep her face neutral and hide how pleased she was, but she suspected she was failing miserably.

Right on cue, Octavian stepped in and stamped on her momentary happiness, letting the Doctor know she was his prisoner. Thankfully he stopped at that; had he revealed the full truth, River wouldn’t have been responsible for her actions.

When they reached the Primary Flight Deck, River climbed inside. She immediately spotted a malfunctioning teleporter and set to work on it; it was their best hope of saving Amy and the others from the forest. After a couple of minutes the Doctor followed her inside, alone. “Octavian’s dead.” He said it almost as though he had killed him himself. There was a drastic change in the Doctor’s mood. He was seething, seething with her. Octavian was gone, but what had he said? She didn’t dare ask.

Whatever it was, it was occupying the Doctor’s mind, and for the first time ever, he was completely out of ideas. She knew she was Amy’s only hope, so she steadied her hands and resumed work on the teleport, eventually finding the burnt fuse, bypassing it and locking on to the correct bio-coordinates. Amy materialized almost in her arms and River held her mother tight and reassured her.

She wasn’t the only one relieved. “River Song, I could bloody kiss you!”

When he looked at her, River knew right then that whatever Octavian had said in his last moments, whether he had kept her secrets or not, it didn’t matter because she could see it in the Doctor’s eyes. He trusted her. Much as she would have liked to take him up on his offer, she knew the time wasn’t right for him. “Maybe when you’re older.”

True to form, the sliver of joy was almost immediately trampled—the stupid bloody idiot was going to sacrifice himself to the crack in the universe. Well she was damned if she was going to let him go out this early. “I've travelled in time. I'm a complicated space-time event too. Throw me in.”

“Oh, be serious! Compared to me, these Angels are more complicated than you and it would take every one of them to amount to me, so get a grip.” Oh, he was so painfully young. He had no concept whatsoever of who was standing next to him. Thankfully she wouldn’t have to demonstrate exactly how complicated a space-time event she was, because his brain was finally firing on all cylinders again, and he figured out how to save them at the eleventh hour.

 

She stood on the beach waiting for the prison transport. The few remaining clerics had been quick to handcuff her when they three emerged from the Byzantium without the others. Of all those who entered the catacomb, they could only remember Octavian—he must have been the only one not swallowed by the crack.

She thought about Octavian and how he had died so similarly to his sister in the end, not in service of his sworn allegiance, the church, but in service of the Doctor. His faith in his god stayed with him until the end. She almost prayed that his belief in the afterlife would prove true for him, that they all could be together again in death, that Harry Bucket could finally have his family together.

The Doctor sidled up to her, interrupting her thoughts, and she smiled.  “Octavian said you killed a man.”

 _Ah._ She suspected the Doctor knew what that meant, even if Octavian didn’t specify. So she told the Doctor the truth—that he was the best man she had ever known. She saw him swallow. She knew this face so well; he was hurting for her, and maybe for himself.

Her handcuffs beeped; it was really time to go. “See you soon, Amy,” was all she could manage to say to her mother. Amy would see her soon, but she knew it was the very last time for herself. There was nothing to be done; it had all been lived already. Well lived, and she was grateful for every moment.

As she left, the Doctor asked if he could trust her, and she chuckled because he already did or he wouldn’t have asked. “Where’s the fun in that?” She felt her skin tingle as the transport whisked her away.

She materialised with a start, because in place of the harsh lighting of the prison ship she was enveloped in a loving amber glow, and the lost song of the TARDIS echoed sadly in the dormant recesses of her mind. And at the console stood the Doctor wearing an almost forgotten smile. Her smile. Her Doctor.


	8. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River thinks she might actually believe in miracles, and the Doctor finds some things difficult to accept

River stood frozen, her legs threatening to give way, as she watched the Doctor skip down from the console and swagger towards her.

“Surprise!” He clapped his hands together and beamed at her. “I intercepted the transport and had you materialise here instead, but don’t worry, we can have you aboard the prison ship exactly when you need to be so that no one’s any the wiser. Impressed? Say you’re impressed; it took a lot of effort—very fiddly.” He stopped and looked at her. “River, don’t be upset; it’s just a stop off on the way to your hearing. After what an insufferable sod he… sorry, I was being to you down there—and the Angels and everything—I thought you’d be grateful of the break.”

“Hearing?”

He grimaced. “Spoilers. Damn. Well the cat’s out of the bag now.” He trotted back up to the console and projected the contents of a history file.

_Doctor’s Killer Pardoned_ , the headline read, with a clip of her leaving court and being bundled into a waiting transport vehicle.

“And you were even granted absolution by the Papal mainframe, so that should sort out the backlash from the Order of the Religious Devout that you were fretting about.” He grinned widely.

River opened her mouth, finally forming words from the avalanche of thoughts in her head. “Doctor, when did you last see me?”

He switched off the projection at the console. “One— no, two sleeps, if you don’t count this one.”

“Where is she?”

“In bed, where else would she be?”

With that, River’s legs started to carry her down the lower corridor and to a door that was left ajar, as it always had been. She put her hand to the doorjamb to steady herself as she looked inside. Cast in the glow of the small blue night-light and barely visible from beneath the covers was a dark head of hair. The only sounds were the shallow breaths of peaceful sleep.

“It’s been more than a couple of days for you, hasn’t it?” The Doctor was at her shoulder. River just nodded, afraid to look around lest the floodgates open. “Come on, you need a cup of tea,” he said and stroked her arm gently, the first time he had touched her properly in so many years, and she closed her eyes.

“Okay.”

 

River sat at the TARDIS kitchen table with her head in her hands as the Doctor threw a large handful of teabags into the pot and filled it up with boiling water. He brought two poured cups over and sat next to her. He milked the teas then started spooning sugar into his.

“Thanks,” River said, and took her cup in her hands but didn’t lift it.

“Longer than a day or two, but how long exactly?” he asked quietly as he peered at her, toying with the teaspoon in his hand.

When she looked at him she could see the concern on his face. She wondered if she should lie, cushion the blow a bit, but she was so tired of lying. “Twelve years.”

His mouth made a tense line and he started to stir his tea briskly. He took the spoon, tossed it onto the table, and stared into his still swirling cup. “You thought we were gone.”

“Yeah.”

“River, I— I wouldn’t, not if I could help it.”

“I know.”

“I mean, yes, I skipped ahead a bit, but that’s nothing new; I normally back-fill the days. I just got excited after our discussion on Toulicon. I couldn’t wait.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But I can’t understand what could possibly prevent me from filling those days.”

“Me. I could.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “What? Why?”

“Because neither you nor I chose it that way, which means it was how it was always supposed to happen. This was how I earned my pardon. If there was any other way, the TARDIS would have found it.”

“Yeah well, we’ll see about that.”

“Don’t you dare!” River fixed him with a fiery glare.

“Why not?”

“Because now, everything we talked about on Toulicon can begin—our slice of linear living. If you try to meddle with how it went, we could end up back at the start again, and maybe I’ll never get a pardon.”

“Why are you arguing?” came the small voice from the doorway.

“We’re not arguing, we’re discussing.” The Doctor repeated the well-practiced line. “And what are you doing out of bed?”

The little girl shrugged, then padded barefoot over to River and climbed onto her lap. She wrinkled her nose. “Mummy, you smell awful.” She rested her head on River’s chest regardless and shut her eyes.

“I just climbed out of a really smelly cave, sweetie,” River said and pressed her face to her daughter’s hair, breathing her in. She held the child close in her lap, fighting back the tears and the sob that threatened in her chest. She looked at the Doctor, who was chasing a tear away with his thumb. He nodded to her and she kissed the little girl’s crown.

“The Doctor wouldn’t read me the whale story; he read the monkey with the hats instead.”

River smiled. “Naughty Daddy.”

“Doctor, Mummy.”

“You know you can say Daddy when you’re at home, it’s only when we’re outside that you need to say Doctor?”

“Yes, Mummy, but you never know who might be listening.”

“Very true, my clever girl. Come on,” she said, getting to her feet with her child in her arms, “let’s see what this whale is getting up to.”

There was grumbling but no fight. The Doctor reached up, taking River’s hand for a moment, and they shared a sad, tired smile.

 

When River returned, the cups were in the sink, and the Doctor was standing over it, gazing down at them with a tense jaw.

“Trying to stare them into submission?”

He looked up at her with a pained expression. “Twelve years.” She crossed the room and he turned to her. “That’s twelve years of you I can never have. It’s just… gone.”

“It’s okay, I have plenty of good years left in me,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood.

His lip quivered, and he made it curve into a smile. It was an expression she was familiar with from the Doctor; he was donning a mask, recapturing control, but his eyes gave the game away. Rarely did he appear more distraught than when that smile was on his lips. River knew what it meant, of course she did, the pattern was clear. But she didn’t dare let her mind wander to the end of the path and look directly at what awaited her. The Doctor’s final spoiler.

“I’m here now,” she said quietly, and his smile evaporated. He took the single step of distance that remained between them and took her in his arms, pulling her close and dropping a tender kiss of consolation to her temple. She relaxed into his chest, the easy canter of his hearts calming her frayed nerves. Her hands rested on his lower back and she could feel the slow movement of muscle beneath his skin and beneath his shirt. Living and breathing and there in her arms—the dream she hadn’t allowed herself to dream had come true.

“River, how can you be okay with this?” His fingers tapped absently by her spine.

“An hour ago I had given up hope of ever seeing either of you again, and now I’m here in your arms having tucked my daughter into bed. It’s a miracle.”

He held her tighter and chuckled. “A miracle. You’ve been spending too much time with Octavian.”

River pulled back to look up at him. “Doctor—”

“It’s okay, I know. You don’t have to tell me. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t actually say it. If you don’t mind?”

River closed her mouth and laid her head back on his chest. “When?”

“Since then. His projected thoughts got slightly difficult to ignore just before he died. He let all sorts of things slip—that being one that stuck out quite a bit. Had to be someone I liked, didn’t it? Can’t even hate him. Never mind.” He patted her on the shoulder. “I never quite got it at the time, the whys and wherefores of the situation. I always thought that, with the fullness of time, it would become clear. And here we are, time is full and it all makes perfect sense.” He laughed uncomfortably. “I owe him a debt of gratitude, I suppose, in reality…”

River looked up at him. “Doctor, can we change the subject?”

“Oh god, yes please. Anything else.”

She reached up and put her lips gently to his, feeling a current of relief and joy run down her back. “I never thought I’d kiss you again,” she said as she smiled by his lips.

He cupped her cheek with his palm and returned the kiss, lacing it with desire, as his hand caressed her back and the other tangled in her hair. “What else did you think we’d never do again?” he asked, vaguely breathless.

“I think a practical demonstration would be best.” She placed a finger on his breastbone. “But first, I need a really hot shower. You heard her, I smell awful.”

He kissed her again quickly. “Scrub your back?”

“You’d better.”

He grinned. “Lead the way.”

 

Later in his arms, River did something else she never thought she’d get to do again; she cried. She thought it remarkable how quickly twelve years of tears could be shed when she felt safe enough to let them fall, and the person holding her knew her well enough to offer no words of comfort. He also knew her well enough not to mention any of them leaving the TARDIS until she was ready.

It occurred to River that even if years of loneliness and heartache couldn’t be quickly remedied over the course of a few days, it was plenty of time to recover from the side effects of her confinement.

She talked about things and people she hadn’t been able to mention in years, lifting the crushing weight of secrecy from her bones. She swam with her daughter, and felt her agility and strength return as they splashed and frolicked in the TARDIS swimming pool. She practiced her marksmanship and found that she slipped back into it like a favourite pair of well-worn shoes.

And in her quieter times, she sometimes thought about Octavian and how he had been right. Something of people you love, no matter how painful, was better than the sentence that he had had to endure after his wife’s death. The crumbs she had been fed had been enough to sustain her hope over the long years of drought. It hadn’t been for nothing; it was the TARDIS’s consolation for what she was being subjected to. She felt sorry that she couldn’t have allowed Octavian to know her better, because she was sure she had known him at his best.

One evening, after dinner, River sighed. “I think it’s time to face the music.”

The Doctor nodded. “Now or in the morning?”

“No time like the present, I suppose.”

She went and changed into her military fatigues and tied her hair up. The Doctor took her hand, led her to the console room, and retrieved a vortex manipulator from underneath the console. Strapping it to her wrist, he said, “I have the coordinates of the transport stream inputted under number two here. It will bring you back onto the prison ship as if you had been directly transported off Alfava Metraxis. Just make sure you keep your sleeve down so no one notices the manipulator.”

“Of course. What about number one?”

“Ah, well. Number one is special. It’s part of a gift.”

“A gift?”

“A ‘congratulations on your pardon, Mummy’ sort of gift. But I think you deserve part of it early.” He brushed a curl out of her face as she searched his eyes. “Right,” he said turning around and rummaging under the console once more to retrieve a small blue box decorated with hand-painted silver stars. “Now before I give you this, you have to promise not to breathe a word to her ladyship. My life wouldn’t be worth the grief.”

River chuckled, “On my honour.” The Doctor handed her the box and she carefully opened it. Inside was a stack of small blue cards. “What are they?”

“Take a look,” he said, and she plucked one out and examined it. Written in silver ink on the opposite side were a set of coordinates and a time range. She looked at the Doctor again. “We’ve been working on it for ages, finding little safe pockets for you to go and visit. And in all of them, they know who you are, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“You’re giving me time with my parents?” He shrugged and smiled. River felt a swell of emotion; she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him over and over. “When’s number one?”

His hand slipped down to rest fondly on the curve of her bum. “Just after I gave them the house, they think I’m dead.” He scratched his cheek. “But you can tell them that I’m not, if you like.”

She kissed him more slowly, and he gave her bum a squeeze. “Off you go then, plenty of time for snogging later.” She let go, closed up the little box again, and handed it back to him. He gave her the handcuffs she would need for the prison ship and a quick kiss. “Good luck. I’ll be watching your hearing, and I’ll be waiting for you afterwards—this contraption willing.” He kicked the base of the console half-heartedly. “You always seemed right at home on Trotter’s lane, didn’t you, you old heap of scrap?”

River rolled her eyes. “I’ll see all three of you when I’m released.” She stole one last kiss before hitting button number one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little fluffy. She deserves it after what I put her through.
> 
> River wouldn't give me a name for the girl, so I didn't force it and left it out. I figure she's always going to have some secrets that no one is privy to.


	9. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River leaves Stormcage and calls on an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack kind of inserted himself here (hurr hurr), and went off on a bit of a Torchwood tangent. But don't worry, it only refers to the main plot of [Children of Earth](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torchwood:_Children_of_Earth) which you can read on Wiki. However if you haven't seen it, watch it instead of going for the plot summary. It's fantastic telly, even if Torchwood never floated your boat, Children of Earth is superb.
> 
> And sorry this took so long, it's be almost ready for nearly a week but we've been doing home improvements and I haven't had much facetime with the laptop.
> 
> Just the epilogue to go now and I'm going to do my best to post it on Friday.

Almost as soon as she arrived back at Stormcage, River was summoned by the warden. Her initial concern that her unplanned stop-off home had somehow been discovered was quickly banished when she entered the office.

River knocked as she opened the door. “You wanted to see me, warden?”

The warden hopped giddily out of her seat. “River, River! Come in. Sit down.”

“Em, okay.” River said, slightly startled by exuberance of the greeting.

“I thought I told you to call me Elinor? Actually I’m certain I did.” She ushered River into the chair, skipped back around to her own seat and sat down. Leaning forward, she grinned across at River. “Good news.”

“Oh?”

“You’re going to have a parole hearing. Next Thursday.”

“Oh!” Even though she knew, it was still surprisingly soon.

“The Church cocked up. Royally. When the Byzantium crash landed, Octavian contacted the Cardinal requesting further support due to starliner’s hull being breached and there being colonists on Alfava Metraxis. The Cardinal refused and ordered Octavian to complete the mission with the resources he had.”

“How did you find out?”

“He said he wanted to inform me as your regular custodian, so he sent me his request and the response from the Cardinal. Part of me thinks that perhaps he wanted someone to have the information who wouldn’t destroy it at the first sniff of trouble. What do you think?”

“That sounds like something he would do… would have done.”

“You two grew close over the years, didn’t you?”

“We did.”

“Well then, I’m sorry for your loss.”

River could only nod. “So, you were saying…? About the Cardinal.”

“Yes! Well, I contacted the Cardinal’s office and I demanded to speak to him. When they finally put him on the line, I told him what I knew and how I wasn’t sure whether I should let the media know or not—this being an election year and all that. When he asked me what I wanted, I told him that I wanted a papal recommendation for your pardon, and that he could bloody well throw absolution into the bargain while he was at it.” Elinor blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Elinor, why are you doing all this for me?”

“Oh River dearest. Don’t you know by now? Don’t you know what it would mean to me to have you finally—legitimately—out of my prison and off my books? I won’t have to sit at staffing meetings about prison guard turnover being higher than all the other prisons combined. I won’t have to spend evenings destroying footage of your escapes, or fudging the accounts to cover for structural repairs to your cell after yet another incident with explosives. I’ll be a new woman; I might even get to take up a hobby. I was thinking… bridge?”

River laughed. “I’ll miss you too, Elinor.”

Elinor wagged a finger. “It’s only a hearing, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

River flinched, _Bloody foreknowledge._ “Sorry, yes, of course.”

“I’m kidding. With the rave review the Church provided, along with my glowing report on ‘River Song – Model Prisoner’, the hearing is nothing more than a formality.” Elinor rubbed her hands together. “Thursday!”

 

The hearing went as smoothly as predicted. River wore an understated outfit and a contrite expression, Elinor lied beautifully about River’s behavioural record with Stormcage and the Papal absolution was the icing on the cake for the reviewing board. They didn’t need long to deliberate.

River donned her sunglasses as she stepped out into the waiting crush of reporters and the few fanatics still angry enough to turn out and shout abuse at the Doctor’s killer. For once none of it bothered her; the page was just turning and the next volume of her life was about to begin. Her solicitor lead her through the ocean of recording devices being shoved into her face and deposited her safely in the waiting transport vehicle.

The door shut behind her and she took her sunglasses off.

Jack Harkness opened his arms. “Don’t I even get a kiss?”

“Of course you do. I’m not a barbarian.”  She leaned in and kissed him on the lips, then hugged him. “Thank you for doing this, Jack.”

“Any time; especially if it involves kissing, or…”

“Don’t push it, Harkness.” River smiled. “But honestly, thank you. I didn’t know who else to ask from this time zone who wasn’t, well, dead.”

“One hundred and thirty four years in prison, that must be a record.”

“For a humanoid, yes.”

“And you look as though you haven’t aged a day.”

“Ha! So tell me, what’s it like being back in this time zone after so long.”

“Weird. I used to feel right at home here, but now… I don’t know.” Jack’s face fell.

“How are you holding up?” River took his hand and squeezed it.

“Oh you know, terrible. This came along at the right time; I need a break from the 21st century after everything.”

“How’s Alice?”

Jack laughed humourlessly. “I wish I knew. I think that ship has well and truly sailed.”

“Jack,” River said quietly. “You had no choice, you did the only thing you could.”

“I don’t think your old man sees it like that. He could barely look at me when he picked me up to bring me here.”

“He still loves you Jack; it’s just different for him now. Being a father again has stirred up a lot of things he had the luxury of not needing to face before. You make him uncomfortable, not because he thinks you should have done things differently, but because he’s terrified of being backed into the same corner you were.” River looked out the window at the passing cityscape.

“He wouldn’t do what I did. Not with her.”

“No? He did it before.”

Jack turned to her and paused before speaking. “If he did… would you be able to forgive him?”

River felt a burning in her chest. “No point in dealing in hypotheticals.”

“Please. I need to know if I’d be wasting my time contacting Alice again.”

“I’m not her. Just because she reacts in a certain way, doesn’t mean that I would be the same.”

“River…”

She gritted her teeth and continued to stare at the city streaking past. “No, Jack. I’d never forgive him.”

 

 

They spent the rest of the journey silently holding hands until the transport slowed as it approached a set of tall gates. Reporters were crowded outside and their modified flashbulbs lit up the inside of the vehicle.

“They’ve got photos of us holding hands now.” River said, finally breaking their hour-long silence.

“I can see the headlines now: ‘Doctor’s killer takes a ridiculously handsome lover.’”

River slapped him on the arm. “Shut up.”

The gates opened and the transport passed through, ferrying them away from the prying lenses of the press. “He didn’t skimp, did he?” Jack asked as they wound their way up to the front entrance of his new home.

“And you think he doesn’t love you.”

“It wouldn’t kill him to say it once in a while.” Jack said as the transport came to a stop.

“Don’t I know it?” River laughed as she opened the door and climbed out. “I think if he ever did say it, that’s when I would really start to worry.”

Upon entering the house, River could hear happy sounds coming from the upper floor and found herself trotting up the marble staircase. As she rounded the corner, a cricket ball whizzed past, narrowly missing her head, and careened into a glass case behind her, smashing it and everything inside to smithereens. River turned to look at the origin of the missile and the two startled guilty faces staring back at her.

“Sorry. My fault,” the Doctor said, putting his cricket bat down carefully. “We got a bit bored.”

River grinned and crossed the room to them and lifted her daughter onto her hip. “Hello.”

“We were watching you, Mummy, but the Doctor switched it off. They weren’t being nice.”

“Some things never change,” the Doctor said. “Vultures.”

“Vultures,” the little girl agreed.

Jack cleared his throat behind them. “So, will you be staying for dinner?”

“We should probably hit the road,” the Doctor said, and Jack’s face fell.

River elbowed her husband. “We’d be delighted.”

 

Later when their daughter was tucked up in her bed, River and the Doctor were saying goodbye to Jack. “You’ll see me again when I need to sign in to the parole board—once every three months for the next six years. You have the dates?”

“Yep,” Jack said, patting his shirt pocket.

“Outside of that you can do whatever you like,” River said with a smirk.

“Within reason…” the Doctor said and River rolled her eyes at him.

“When you come, make sure to stick around. For a little while at least. I could get lonely knocking about this big old house.”

“Somehow I doubt you’ll be on your own for very long, Jack Harkness. But I promise.” She put her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Thanks again. I’ll see you in three months.” She kissed him on the cheek before releasing him.

They all stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment or two, until River nudged the Doctor and glared at him. He stepped forward and hugged Jack stiffly. Jack, seemingly having lost his earlier reservations, took the Doctor by the head and kissed him on the lips. When he let him go, the Doctor coughed, but smiled. “Right, Jack. See you soon, and sorry about the cabinet.”

The Doctor’s hand slipped into River’s as Jack waved them off. River smiled at the sensation; it was still novel, half unexpected, for her husband to take her hand. She smiled up at him as they stepped into the TARDIS.

Home at last.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _River Song, noted archaeologist._

As far as the universe was concerned, River had become a recluse. Living in Jack’s mansion in New New York, only emerging on the days she needed to sign the probation register. After a while the number of reporters stationed outside the gates dwindled, and the salacious stories in the media gave way to the next big scandal. The day finally came for her final signature, and Jack was freed from his voluntary bond to live whatever life he chose.

River decided that a life of academia would be a suitable counterpoint to her former life of crime. She courted a few fifty-first century universities and was taken on as a fellow at Oxford on New Earth.  Her published articles in Archaeological journals were highly thought of, as well as earning the dubious honour of being most plagiarised.

The long period of time she took to herself to spend with her family served her well. Her normal suffix shifted from ‘convicted murderer’ to ‘noted archaeologist’.

By the time the offer of the residential professorship came through, her child was an adult with a life of her own, and River felt like it was time for a new adventure. She was given her own office with a view out over the city rooftops.  There was a certain comfort in the ancient stone buildings, each of them an archaeological gem in its own right; perfectly preserved and carefully transported by the Trust from Earth to New Earth post evacuation. And now she was adding her story to the countless others witnessed by these walls.

Life in Oxford was steady and quiet, the perfect contrast to life with the Doctor. She had never spent so much continuous time with him as she had after her release, and if she were being honest, it could be very tiring—she felt she could never be truly alone aboard the TARDIS. She had grown accustomed to her own company during her confinement, and there was something about it she missed.

She found a modest residence outside of town and used her salary to pay for it, in spite of offers from a well-meaning husband in the habit of gifting buildings to those he loved. She wanted it to be hers—her walls, her roof, her door. She had never owned anything much more permanent than her diary in her entire life, and it felt like no mean feat to do something so normal as own a house.

The Doctor would call most nights, as he had in the past. And her daughter would whisk her away from time to time, normally on less perilous adventures than those her father favoured. The opening of the Louvre perhaps, or tea with the Dali Llama. It was after a trip to London, for the opening night of _The Mousetrap_ on the West End, that River kissed her daughter goodbye and dropped in to her office to collect some assignments she had intended on marking. She was momentarily startled to find the Doctor sitting in the dark, fiddling with a paperweight, waiting for her. “You scared the life out of me!” she said, clutching her hand to her chest.

“Sorry I didn’t turn on the light. I was just admiring your view here.” He leaned to look again out of the window. The starlight shimmered on the rain-slicked black slates.

“It is quite beautiful, isn’t it? I’m never normally here after dark. In fact I’m only here tonight because I needed to collect a few things. I’m just home from the West End in 1952 after seeing _The Mousetrap_ with—” River stopped. There was something not quite right about the way the Doctor was peering at her. There was something guarded about his manner that made her pause. She found the switch next to the door and flooded the room with light. There he sat—startlingly young.

“—with?”

“Oh, em, you wouldn’t know them.” River said, slightly shocked, slightly awed at seeing someone so familiar seeming so unfamiliar once more.

The Doctor cocked an eyebrow at that. “I met Agatha Christie once, wonderful woman, throws terrifying parties.”

River moved to her desk and fumbled for a small key dangling from a chain around her neck. She unlocked a concealed drawer and slid her blue diary out. “Where are we for you?” The words felt like cotton in her mouth, such was the length of time since they have been spoken. She heard the spine crack slightly as she opened the book she had once never left off her person. She flicked through a few of his earlier adventures with her and he wouldn’t give her a straight answer. She shut the book again. “So what brings you here, Doctor?”

“Dunno,” he said, finally losing control of his hands and dropping the paperweight. He picked it up and put it back roughly where he had found it. “Thought I’d look you up.”

River smiled, he really never changed. “That’s cheating, Doctor!”

“Don’t worry, Professor Song. I didn’t stray out of the 51st Century academic registers. I know what a stickler you are for your rules.”

“Your rules.”

“I refuse to abide by any rule I haven’t set yet.”

River chuckled fondly. “Oh Doctor, what ever will I do with you?”

There was the faintest smirk on his lips; he turned his face away to conceal it and cleared his throat. He wasn’t much younger than the first time she had met him. That day was such a muddle in her memories, but it was clear to her now that she didn’t stand a chance. He was a devastating, life destroying, magnificent enigma of a man. And he loved her even now, although he barely knew her.

“Are you on your own these days?” River asked.

“No, no. I have someone. She’s asleep. Scottish, ginger—I think you’d like her.”

River grinned. “So Doctor, if you’re not lonely, why exactly are you here?”

“Can’t one old friend drop in on another for no reason?” He got to his feet and moved towards her, stopping just outside or her personal space.

“So we’re friends now are we?”

His face betrayed a hint of panic. “Aren’t we?”

“Of course we are,” she said. “Always.”

 

*   *   *

 

River never told her Doctor whom she had found in her office, he’d only fret. He knew as well as she did that encounters with his younger self were not arbitrary. She tried not to worry unduly; after all she still had her family this turn about. Even if she did know that something was coming, it could be years, and worrying was a futile exercise.

A year or so later, she called him to Asgaard with the intention of seducing him, and he turned up with an entirely different younger face. One she had only ever seen in a photograph. She had to come up with a quick change of plan, and they ended up picnicking, of all the daft endeavours. Of course they had a perfectly pleasant, perfectly chaste, afternoon, but the thought was at the back of her mind scratching to get in. Something was coming.

It wasn’t until he finally made good on his promise to bring her to Darillium did she finally allow herself to worry. He cried as he held her when the towers sang, and then tried to fudge together some explanation for the tears about the frequency of the sound resonating with the emotional centre of his brain. “Ever the romantic, Sweetie,” she had said. His reply floored her: “I love you, River.”

After he had gone, River was restless. She went to her writing desk and rifled through a drawer until she produced the blue box of cards her daughter had given her on her release. There was just one remaining unused. She took it out and looked at it. She had been saving it for when she really needed it, and she didn’t know whether that time was now or not, but she was going to use it either way.

She materialised in her parents’ kitchen in Leadworth, it was night time and Rory was standing at the countertop reading the local newspaper. He looked up and smiled, warming her hearts. “Hello, Dad,” she said, and with that, burst into tears. Rory rushed to take her in his arms. They stayed like that for a while until River broke away. “Sorry about that, I don’t know what got into me.”

“River,” Rory ducked to look into her eyes. “You told me once that you were going to meet a version of the Doctor some day that wouldn’t know who you were. Has that happened?”

River shook her head and dried the last of her tears with her sleeve. “No, nothing like that. I’m just being daft.”

Rory stroked the back of her head and planted a kiss on her forehead. “How long can you stay this time?”

“Until Tuesday.”

“I’ll call work and take a few days off.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Besides, we could all do with a break.”

River spent the following days with her parents, playing board games, shopping with Amy, cooking with Rory. When it was time to leave she felt infinitely better. She hugged them one final goodbye and told them they’d see her soon. She knew it was the very last time she would see them, but she didn’t feel sad, she felt grateful.

 

*   *   *

 

She always thought that it would kill her, to look into the Doctor’s eyes and see nothing reflected back. But it had just happened and she was still living and breathing and hurting. It had to start somewhere for him, she supposed.

Where the Doctor went, mortal danger followed. If she was honest, she thought it amazing that she hadn’t been killed long ago as she sat wiring herself into the core of the Library mainframe. She couldn’t let him die, too many people were depending on him to be saved, or inspired, or born. And she was waiting for him, somewhere in his future, completely unaware of how her life was about to be forever altered.

She thought about the twelve years she had spent grieving him, and it occurred to her that he had been grieving her since the day he met her. And he still let it all happen between them. He allowed himself to look past the ghost and love the woman. She didn’t know if she could have done the same had the roles been reversed.

She loved him—always and completely—and joined the cables.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the end. Thanks so much to everyone for all the comments and encouragement, it means so much to me. I love you all.


End file.
